


That's Great, It Starts With An Earthquake

by dkwilliams



Category: Good Omens (TV), Highlander: The Series
Genre: Apocalypse, Crack, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, End of the World, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: Duncan wakes with the feeling that the world is about to end.  What to do about it?  Well, if you're the Highlander, first you check that your Found Family is okay.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Duncan MacLeod/Methos (Highlander)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 80
Collections: Highlander Holiday ShortCuts 2020





	That's Great, It Starts With An Earthquake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carenejeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/gifts).



> This is completely crack, I don't even know where it came from. Except with the pandemic and the elections and all the other crap we're dealing with this year, this was probably inevitable.
> 
> Using the Good Omens-TV Show timeline, with this story set in Summer 2019.

_"It's The End of the World as we know it, and I feel fine."_

_R.E.M._

**Monday, Seacouver, Five Days Before the End of the World**

Duncan MacLeod woke on a Monday morning near the end of summer with the absolute certainty that the world was going to end in less than a week.

He couldn’t explain just exactly how he knew that this would happen. Perhaps it was the increasingly odd dreams that he’d been having lately. Dreams where an elderly Connor lived inside some sort of bubble after the ozone layer was destroyed. Dreams where Immortals were actually aliens banished to Earth. Dreams in which Duncan had killed Connor in order to stop a mad Immortal from winning the Game. 

It had nothing to do with the Gathering. After all, Connor – who had _nearly_ experienced the Gathering at least 3 times by last count – had described to Duncan in detail what the Gathering felt like. And since he couldn’t stop this Thing that was going to happen, his priority was to see his closest friends, his family. He didn’t want to have any more regrets, should the world end. And if this Thing wasn’t the actual End but just some kind of Apocalyptic event, he needed to make sure they were prepared.

**Tuesday, New York City, Four Days Before the End of the World**

On Tuesday morning, Duncan flew to New York to see Connor. He could have picked up the phone and called him, but the odd dreams made him want to see that Connor was okay. That he hadn’t disappeared into some sort of Sanctuary after the death of his adopted daughter, Rachel. That he hadn’t turned into a weird old man. 

He’d meant the leave the previous day, but some Immortal had shown up at the dojo and challenged him to a fight. He wasn’t a past enemy with a grudge, which was a bit unusual, but his name had started with a K which was pretty typical. The other Immortal was also certain that the Gathering was starting and that Duncan’s head needed to come off. Duncan objected to this, of course, and the strength of their disagreement (not to mention the subsequent Quickening) had caused significant damage to the building. By the time that Duncan had finished with the Watchers, the fire department, the police, and the insurance adjusters, it was too late to fly anywhere.

So he booked a flight for Tuesday morning instead.

He nearly didn’t make _that_ flight as he was challenged in the parking deck by a young Immortal, one who also seemed certain that the Gathering was at hand and who was determined to be the winner. Not that he would have survived if it _had_ been the Gathering – which was why Duncan had let the kid keep his head. Duncan disabled him within five minutes and knocked him unconscious, then tucked the business card of a fellow Immortal into the kid’s shirt pocket. (The kid could really use a teacher.) Then he ran like hell for the terminal.

He arrived at Connor’s newest antique shop in a bit of a disheveled state _. Another_ Immortal had accosted him in the airport bathroom, again spouting that the Gathering was at hand. As Duncan had checked his katana for the flight and hadn’t yet hit baggage claim, he’d been forced to improvise a defense using his carry-on bag, a discarded shoelace, and the hand-dryer. The unfortunate Immortal would no doubt have a terrible head-ache when he woke up.

Duncan was surprised to see that there was a large CLOSED – OUT OF BUSINESS sign on the store window but the door was unlocked. He entered to find the place in bedlam, with a dozen men boxing up the various antiquities in the main room. He found Connor in the back office, along with a beautiful blond woman and his adopted son, John.

“Duncan!” Connor cried out, looking surprised but pleased to see him. “What are you doing in New York?”

“I needed to see you,” Duncan said, feeling a little foolish at having flown across the country because of some bad dreams. On the other hand, three Immortals had appeared out of the blue in the last three days looking for his head, which was a _little_ above even _his_ average for hunters. “Has anything…odd happened to you lately?”

Connor frowned. “Other than an old enemy showing up, declaring that the Gathering was at hand, and trying to kill me – no.”

Duncan glanced over at the woman and John, surprised that his taciturn cousin was being so open in front of them.

“Oh, it’s all right – they know about Immortals and they were involved in the fight,” Connor told him. “Duncan, I’d like you to meet Dr. Alex Johnson. We’re getting married and moving to Scotland – that’s why I’m packing up the shop.”

“Moving to Scotland?” As far as Duncan recalled, Connor hadn’t been back to Scotland in a century. In fact, he barely left New York these days. “Why?”

Connor shrugged. “Seems like the thing to do, moving away from the city. I expect that by this time next year, everyone will be doing that – you know, social distancing.”

“Social – what?”

“Have you heard from your student lately?” Connor asked instead of answering Duncan.

“Richie? He’s in Paris during the summer break in racing,” Duncan replied. “Looking after the barge for me.”

Connor snorted. “Isn’t that a bit like the fox looking after the henhouse?”

“Richie’s a good kid – “Duncan began defensively, but then one of the workmen came to get Connor for decision about packing one of the items. 

“He’ll be a while with that,” Alex said. “Have you got a place to stay yet? No? You must stay here with us, then – we’re at sixes and sevens but if you don’t mind helping with dinner, you’re more than welcome.”

Duncan was reluctant to venture back out into the city, given the odd behavior of other Immortals lately, so he accepted readily. And it was a pleasant evening, and he enjoyed reconnecting with Connor. Alex was a nice person and Connor seemed happier with her than Duncan had seen him in decades. They seemed to be settling into a little family unit and Duncan was happy for them.

  
**Wednesday, Paris, Three Days Before the End of the World**

That night, Duncan dreamed that he became possessed again, this time by a millennial demon that caused him to kill Richie by mistake. And so on Wednesday morning he bid farewell to Connor, wished him luck for the future, and flew to Paris.

When he got to the quay where he moored his houseboat, he found that the vessel was a floating lump of charcoal. His heart in his throat, he stared at it numbly for several long minutes and then headed to Joe’s bar for the news. 

“Mac!” Joe called out as he entered the bar. He had retired from active duty several years earlier, opting to remain in Paris with his club. “What are you doing in Paris? Did you see the barge?”

“Richie – “

Joe waved a reassuring hand. “Richie’s in Switzerland, getting ready for some kind of race next month.”

Relieved, Duncan sat down at the bar and accepted the whiskey that Joe poured for him. “What happened to the barge?”

“Some Immortal came looking for you, apparently – didn’t find you at home, of course. But another Immortal found _him_ and they decided to fight it out on the barge. According to the Watcher for the second guy, who won, the Quickening blew up the boat. Blew off the second guy’s head, too.” Joe poured a glass for himself. “Your Watcher said you had an encounter in Seacouver three days ago. “

Duncan nodded. “And two more on the way to see Connor in New York. They all seemed to think that the Gathering was starting, but Connor says it doesn’t feel like that.”

“Well, _something’s_ got all the Immortals stirred up,” Joe told him. “Reports are that Amanda was chased into a church in Toronto and has taken refuge there. And the Valicourts have barricaded themselves into their chateau.”

“And Methos? Any word on him?”

“In London and settled there for the duration. His Watcher says he’s been haunting a little bookshop in Soho – he and the owner have apparently bonded over their shared love of rare books.”

That seemed safe enough, Duncan thought. Knowing Methos, he’d stay buried in his precious books, at least until this Thing had passed. Still, he felt an urgency humming under his skin, a need to verify that those closest to him were safe, so he decided to go to London. Once he’d called Richie in the morning to make sure that he was okay.

Duncan spent the rest of the evening at the bar, enjoying the drinks and the music. Only one Immortal crossed the threshold that evening, but the shotgun that Joe pulled out and laid on the bar-top discouraged her and she left. He spent the night on the sofa in Joe’s office, his dreams only vaguely disturbed by a monster out of Jules Verne and the impression of boiling seas.

**Thursday, London, Two Days Before the End of the World**

It took most of the next morning to track down Richie, who appeared to be making the rounds of the women of Bern. The younger Immortal hadn’t seen any challengers yet, but he wasn’t worried, so all Duncan could do was trust that he had taught Richie enough. (Well, no, that wasn’t _all_ he could do but Richie refused to give him his address and threatened to disappear to South America if Duncan turned up anywhere in Switzerland with the intention of _saving him_.)

So instead Duncan booked a flight to London. He checked into the Ritz, put on his coat with the hidden katana pocket even though it was a bit hot to wear, and went in search of Methos. 

He found the bookshop easily enough, situated prominently on a corner in Soho. The hours displayed on the notice were confusing, but when he tried the door he found that it was open. There were several customers in the store, including two gentlemen who were talking rather loudly about pornography. Duncan glanced around quickly – after all, he was in Soho and it was possible that he’d wandered into a sex shop by mistake – but the books on the shelves looked to be of the ordinary sort. They were shelved and piled on tables rather haphazardly, beautiful old books that the collector in him couldn’t resist touching. 

He could see why Methos would find this place irresistible.

“May I help you?”

Duncan looked up to see a rather attractive man with curly fair hair and an old-fashioned suit standing nearby. He looked around to see that the two obnoxious men had apparently been sent on their way and the other customers were absorbed in their browsing.

“You have an amazing collection here,” Duncan said, hoping that a little praise might help him get the information he wanted.

The man gave him a look half-way between delight that Duncan shared his love of books and fear that he might want to make off with some of the precious volumes. “Thank you! I’ve had them – my _family_ has had them – for many, many years.”

“You’re A.Z. Fell, then?” Duncan asked. “Duncan MacLeod – I’m a collector, myself.” 

The smile fell away and a wary look replaced the man’s friendliness. Duncan had the feeling that Fell was about to snatch the book he held away so he set it back down on the pile. “Actually, I’m looking for a friend and I was told that he spends a lot of time here. About my height, skinny, dark hair? His name is Adam Pierson.”

Fell’s expression cleared up and a smile returned to his eyes. “Adam Pierson! Indeed, he often drops by to talk about my collection and share some of his own. So nice to be able to practice my ancient Sumerian!”

“Have you seen him lately?”

“Not the last few days, no,” Fell said. “Although I expect him any day – I have a special order for him, I think.” Fell went over to the register and looked through a stack of books there. “Yes, here it is!”

“I was hoping to find him today,” Duncan said.

“You might try University College, the languages department. He’s a visiting scholar there. They should be able to put you in touch with him.”

Duncan nodded. “Thank you. And if he should come by, would you give him this?” He took out a business card and handed it to Fell.

With a last glance around at the tempting array of books, Duncan left the shop and started down the road, looking for a taxi. Before he got more than a half-block away, though, he felt the unmistakable shiver of Immortal presence. He swung around, hoping to see Methos, but instead was confronted by a stranger on the other side of street.

“Oh, not this again,” he muttered to himself. He held up his hands in a conciliatory and non-threatening manner. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

“Coward,” the man spat. “We must fight – it’s the Gathering.”

“No, it’s not,” Duncan said. “It really, really isn’t.” 

The man ignored him, starting across the road as he pulled his sword out, a feverish gleam in his eyes. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t paid attention to the traffic and so was struck quite violently by a vintage black car as it roared down the street. The strange Immortal was thrown towards Duncan, knocking him to the ground although luckily his sword went off in another direction. As did the man’s shoes.

Duncan lay for several moments on the sidewalk, only partly conscious but wholly aware that he was pinned by a (quite likely) dead body. His own sword lay next to his hand, as he had just pulled it out as the stranger approached, and he had a feeling that they presented quite an alarming sight. He half expected to hear screams or sirens. What he _didn’t_ expect was the familiar voice of the bookseller.

“Oh Crowley! Just look what you’ve done!” The man’s voice was reproaching but somehow not alarmed.

“Not my fault, I swear!” said another voice, that of a stranger. “Walked right out in front of the car! Put quite a dent in the bonnet, too.”

“And it threw him right on that Immortal who was just in my shop. Do you think he’s hurt?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the second man said sarcastically. “I’m sure that having a dead body lying on top of one _might_ be a bit of a problem.”

“You’re quite right, my dear.” There was a snapping noise and then the body pinning Duncan to the sidewalk disappeared.

“Pretty much certain we’re not meant to interfere with them,” said the second voice, in a reproving manner.

“I couldn’t just let that man wake up and kill him, Crowley!” protested a voice from closer to him. “He seemed like such a nice person.”

“Dunno ‘bout that, angel. His lot go around whacking each other’s heads off with great big swords. Sounds more like my side than yours.”

Now that he was no longer pinned down, Duncan could feel his own Immortal healing kick in. He blinked his eyes open and looked around. Bent over him was the bookseller, and next to him was a slender young man with vivid red hair, dressed in skin-tight black clothes. That must be the second voice, he thought, trying to recover his scrambled wits. 

Duncan pushed himself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to assess his katana for damage and then looked around. Parked haphazardly by the curb was the vintage car that had struck the other Immortal. Who didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight. Oddly enough, the people who were passing them on the sidewalk ignored the three of them as if they weren’t there. 

“Are you all right?” the bookseller, Mr. Fell, asked him anxiously. “You took quite a tumble.”

“Fine,” Duncan croaked out, then cleared his voice and tried again. “I’ll be fine.” He looked around again. “The other man…? The one struck by the car?”

Mr. Fell looked slightly guilty. “I’m afraid that he’s…gone away. Quite – quite far. Was he a friend?”

“No.” Duncan pushed himself to his feet, helpfully aided by Mr. Fell’s had on his elbow. Once he’d gotten upright, he quickly whisked the katana out of sight.

The second man, Crowley apparently, looked very interested at this. “I always wondered how you fellows do that,” he said, craning his head to peer around Duncan’s back. “I mean, where does it go? Coat’s too short for it to be a scabbard in there – is it a pocket dimension?” 

“My dear Crowley!” Fell tutted. “You mustn’t intrude into his business with such personal questions!” He looked at Duncan, quite anxious again. “Are you sure that you’re all right? I’d ask you in for a nice cup of tea only I’ve just closed up the shop.”

“Don’t get started with your fussing,” Crowley told Fell, quite crossly it seemed. “We have to go find the boy, remember.”

“Right,” Fell said, looking torn.

“I’ll be fine,” Duncan assured him, feeling steadier by the moment, although he couldn’t help looking around warily for that other Immortal. He couldn’t have just disappeared – must have run off, to avoid being part of a scene. Which, apparently, there wasn’t. “I’ll just take a taxi to my hotel – “

Fell turned towards Crowley, an expectant look on his face, and the other man said, “Oh no. Not on your life.” 

He then snapped his fingers, which seemed a little rude. A moment later, a taxi pulled up just beyond the vintage car – which, this being London, was a bit of a miracle. Duncan said good-bye to Fell and headed to the taxi, glancing at the unblemished front of the old car as he passed. He could have sworn that Crowley had said it was dented… He decided that he needed a really large glass of scotch when he got to the hotel.

**Friday, London, One Day Before the End of the World**

The next day, Duncan’s attempts to locate Methos hit the wall. While the university acknowledged that Adam Pierson was one of their guest scholars, the secretary told him that he was not currently in residence as they were on summer break. They also refused to give him Methos’s contact information, although they took a message that they promised to pass on when Pierson was next in the office. However, the secretary didn’t sound hopeful that this would be any time soon. 

Given the proliferation of Immortals seeking heads, Duncan decided to eat in the hotel instead of risking a fatal encounter. While he had enjoyed dining in the restaurant’s main dining room on past visits, he didn’t feel up to eating there alone so he chose the more intimate Rivoli bar instead. The light meal was good and the whiskey excellent, but he found himself longing for company. Perhaps Methos would agree to share a meal, if he ever caught up with him and if the Earth didn’t end, after all. 

He found himself contemplating the other Immortal over a third glass of whiskey, wondering why their friendship had never taken that next step. Partly it was his fault, he acknowledged – he had always seemed to be with another lover or in the midst of wooing/breaking up. But Methos had gotten a little skittish the few times that Duncan had ventured a mild flirtation with him, seeming interested but then suddenly taking himself off to the other side of the world. He knew that Methos found him attractive – Duncan had been on the receiving end of too many lustful looks to have mistaken the looks he got from Methos. But there was something that made Methos keep him at arm’s length, and now he wondered if they had simply run out of time.

Deciding that the whiskey was making him maudlin, Duncan paid for his meal and headed up to his lonely bed. 

That night he dreamed about Methos. It was an odd sort of dream where the world had gone crazy with an odd cosmic convergence in the sky, a Source that let him knock up some strange woman, and Methos being chased by cannibals. He stumbled out of bed to take an antacid to settle his stomach and vowed to watch what he ate and drank more carefully, then went back to sleep.

**Saturday, London, Several Hours Before the End of the World**

In the morning, some of the oddness of his dreams lingered, and the bizarre news reports didn’t help. One of the local nuclear power stations had reportedly experienced an odd “incident”, although it didn’t seem to be dangerous. A Japanese “research” vessel had been swamped and possibly devoured by a large sea creature that sounded like something from Jules Verne and that one of the reporters was calling a kraken. And a cruise ship had literally run into the lost city of Atlantis, which had re-emerged from the ocean right in its path.

It really sounded as if the world was going mad and he uneasily reflected back on his dreams.

His internal need to find Methos was becoming more urgent, and Duncan decided to try the other bookstores in London, as well as the British Museum. However, the older Immortal wasn’t to be found in any of those places, not even in the central library. Finally, at his last straw, Duncan returned to the bookshop in Soho.

Only to find that it was on fire.

He stood across the street, watching in horror as the firefighters attempted to put out the conflagration but they could do little more than keep the buildings around the bookshop from going up as well. Duncan thought about the piles of books and papers, about the fragile old volumes that he’d touched, about the shelves and shelves of flammable items. He wondered if Mr. Fell had been able to get out all safely but the firemen were too busy fighting the blaze to ask. 

“MacLeod?”

He knew that voice. Duncan spun around to see Methos standing on the sidewalk nearby, staring at him in surprise. The other man was drenched and smelled of smoke, clearly having gotten closer to the fire than Duncan had.

“What are you doing here in London?” Methos asked.

Duncan strode over to grasp him by the shoulders. “Looking for you. Are you all right?”

“What? Yes, of course.” Methos looked down, as if realizing for the first time that he was wet and dirty. “Oh. I tried to get in there but the firemen – “

“Is Mr. Fell alright?”

“Who? Oh, yes, Fell. No, I don’t think… Crowley was coming out when I got here. Alone.”

“I’m so sorry; he seemed like a nice man. Did you know him well?”

“Oh, on and off for years.” Methos managed a weak smile. “Met him at another fire, as a matter of fact, in Alexandria.” He turned his head back towards the bookshop, watching the firefighters as they brought the blaze under control.

 _Methos was clearly disoriented, maybe had inhaled some of the smoke_ , Duncan thought. And standing around, dripping wet, wouldn’t help, plus the weather seemed to be taking a nasty turn.

“Look, you need to get out of these wet clothes – do you live nearby?”

Methos shook his head, his eyes still on the burning building. “Staying in Oxford, just down for the day.”

“You can’t travel back to Oxford like this. I’ve got a room at the Ritz,” Duncan said. “Come back with me. You can get a hot shower, borrow some of my clothes. Won’t be the first time,” he teased, hoping to lighten the other man’s mood a little.

Methos smiled faintly at that and allowed Duncan to drag him off towards the taxi that he hailed. The driver complained about Methos’s state but Duncan assured him of a big tip to cover any damage, so he agreed to drive them back to Duncan’s hotel. Methos was quiet during the entire drive and the elevator ride up to Duncan’s room and Duncan didn’t push him to talk. He dug a spare set of sweat pants and the oatmeal-colored sweater out of his bags, knowing that both would fit Methos, then showed him to the bathroom. While the other man was showering, Duncan ordered room service and then sat back to wait.

Methos came out of the bathroom, bare-chested with the sweats hanging low on his slender hips, toweling his hair dry. “You never said just why you were looking for me.”

Duncan hesitated a moment, reluctant to sound foolish, but then decided that Methos had already seen him at his worst, during the Dark Quickening. “Something…odd is happening. And I’ve been having bizarre dreams.”

Methos nodded. “It’s the Apocalypse.”

“Not the Gathering?” Duncan asked and Methos shook his head. “That’s all right, then.”

Methos’s lips curled up in the first hint of a smile that Duncan had seen that day. “It’s literally the End of the World and all you can say is ‘that’s all right, then’?”

Duncan shrugged. “If it was the Gathering, we’d have to fight and I don’t want to do that. End of the world – well, not much to be done but sit back and wait for it.”

Methos took a deep breath and let it go, then dropped the towel to the floor. “Might be other things we can do while we’re waiting.” 

He looked up, meeting Duncan’s eyes, and here it was at last. They were both on the same page at the same time. Duncan moved across the floor, pulling Methos into his arms and kissing him thoroughly. Methos’s response was enthusiastic, and then he was pulling Duncan down onto the bed. 

And if the world _did_ end, they were very busy and neither of them were aware of it happening.

**Sunday, London, First Day of The Rest of Their Lives**

Duncan MacLeod woke up on a Sunday morning at the end of summer, nearly certain that the world had ended the previous day. He felt that sort of satiated fatigue that told him that he’d been well and thoroughly loved, and by someone who knew _exactly_ what they were doing.

If this was Heaven – or Hell – he was all in favor of it.

There was a stirring of the bedcovers beside him. “You _would_ be a morning person,” a voice from under the covers grumbled. “Go back to sleep, MacLeod.”

That sounded like an excellent idea, although he had a better one and he slipped under the covers to implement it. Even Methos seemed disinclined to complain about being woken up for _that_ , but then again, Duncan thought that very few men would turn down a blow-job. It seemed to wake him up enough to reciprocate, after which Duncan was more than willing to take a nap.

He did finally tempt the other Immortal out of bed later that afternoon, with the promise of dinner in the dining room downstairs. While Duncan’s spare dinner jacket was a little loose on Methos, it was good enough and they were soon sitting down at a nice table in the Ritz’s main dining room. Duncan ordered champagne, which garnered a raised eyebrow from Methos but no other comment. And as the waiter filled their glasses, Duncan caught sight of a familiar person.

“Look! Isn’t that the bookshop owner, Mr. Fell?” he asked.

Methos turned in his seat and followed Duncan’s gaze, at the center table on the upper level. It was occupied by two men, and although they had their backs to the rest of the room, Duncan thought that the fair curly head of the one man and the bright red hair of the other were unmistakable.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Methos said, then a relieved grin lit up his face. 

“Apparently not,” Duncan replied, because it was clear that the world had survived, even if it felt a bit shaken up, like a child with a snow-globe. 

“I’ll get the story out of him later,” Methos said, turning back to their own table. “But in the meantime, I think a toast is called for, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Duncan replied, and lifted his glass. “To us, and to the world.”

And as Methos’s glass touched his, Duncan could swear that he heard an echo of that toast from elsewhere in the room. 


End file.
